Sensing trouble, the Holy Maiden convoy rolled to a halt, wheels biting dust, shields rising like a wall of spears.

The pursuers looked every inch the bandit—ragged leathers, wolfish stares—yet their auras ran hot at Third Rank, with many burning at Fourth Rank.

Mid-tier cultivators turning to banditry was rare; like hawks pecking for grain, it never paid. Adventuring or joining a guild fed you better.

If the outfits were a mask, then the men beneath were likely criminals—smoke and ash given shape.

Such men share one mark: they bully the soft and flinch from iron.

When they closed to a bowshot, the bandits checked their charge, circling like wolves around a bonfire, then slipped away, resentful as dusk.

“What happened?”

“A caravan, chased by bandits.”

Spring Tide stepped down from the carriage, calm as moonlight, her gaze falling on the ragged line of merchants who had fled.

A handful of merchants drove creaking wagons, relief blooming on their faces like rain on dry fields. A dozen guards panted, sweat beading like dew.

Baili nudged his horse forward to ask. The caravan’s leader thanked him in a rush, then laid out names and cause, breath like wind through reeds.

They were a private caravan bound for the Azuremist Empire to buy arcanotech components. They’d stuck to the main road like a riverbed, safe until the last bend near Northfort.

Northfort, a border stronghold and a mining giant, stood like a black mountain. The Empire sent many convicts there to toil in coal.

Some escaped. Like broken stones rolling downhill, they gathered into bandit bands in the wilds.

With the Imperial Army garrisoning Northfort, such rabble skulked like crows. They rarely neared the walls, rarely showed their claws.

They might rob a small caravan and flee, but seldom butcher to the last. So an ambush this close to Northfort, chased to kill and take, felt wrong as winter thunder.

After giving thanks, the caravan asked to enter the city alongside them. Spring Tide agreed with a nod, light as a falling leaf.

Cerqin stepped out after her, eyes snagging on the word arcanotech like fish to a lure.

She recalled the torture-implements shop in Eastwind City, and the two black slabs that let you speak across air.

Later, she bought a pair to study. The verdict left a bitter taste—handy on paper, hollow as bone.

They let you talk within a small circle, but stray mana tangled the call like briars, and the range was a candle’s reach.

Their one merit lay in their guts: cunning structure, runes arranged like interlocking gears.

Arcanotechnology had spread across the continent like spring flood; of course other mature devices existed.

Word said Northfort’s mines already used it; iron and rune working side by side like pickaxe and lantern.

Cerqin’s interest in Arcanotechnology was a flame in dry grass. Before the gates, she slipped into the caravan’s line and struck up a talk with their leader.

Her plan to master magic was nearly tied off like a finished knot, so Spring Tide only offered one soft warning—no stealing—then vanished back behind the curtains.

The caravan’s leader was a young woman, black hair smooth as ink, poised and proper, yet her eyes flashed fox-bright with a merchant’s quick wit.

The mismatch in poise and craft made a comic picture, like silk hiding a dagger’s hilt.

“You’re lovely. Why wear a face like storm clouds?” Cerqin said, easy as if to an old friend.

“I’m into the Arcanotechnology that’s sprung up these years. You must’ve brought back treasures from the Azuremist Empire, right?”

Though hired by Northfort’s city lord to purchase parts, they sold popular arcanotech along the road like seeds cast to wind.

“Mm. Most of it’s gone,” the leader said, tension easing now she knew this knightly squad rode for the Sanctuary. “But I’ve got some trinkets left, Miss Spring Tide. Want to take a look in the wagon?”

“Absolutely.” Cerqin nodded quickly, bright as a sparrow, and followed Anran into the moving cargo wagon.

A fixed space-expansion rune array held the shell wide. Not as grand as the Holy Maiden convoy’s, but larger inside than its skin confessed.

Storage artifacts were convenient as pockets stitched from sky, but their space was small and the price steep. Big caravans kept valuables in them.

Everyday goods still piled in wagons like grain in bins. This was the broad-shouldered way.

Shelves stood in rows, stacked with boxes big and small, the aisle a narrow stream a person could just slip through.

And this was after selling much along the road; otherwise it would be packed tight as a beehive.

Anran introduced each piece while she unpacked it, laying them out like beads. Many small functions made Cerqin’s eyes light like lanterns.

A toy that spun across the floor with a breath of mana. A doll whose head bobbled quick as a sparrow and made you grin despite yourself.

“These children’s toys don’t sell well,” Anran said, shaking her head like a willow. “They’re novel, sure, but the price isn’t kind. Common folk can’t buy them for their kids.”

“Noble children would love them,” Cerqin murmured, watching a bobblehead glow from within, body lit like a firefly.

It wasn’t a golem worked by spell control. It was a tiny mechanism triggered by mana—a seed and a spring.

“The noble market’s locked down by city clans,” Anran sighed. “Small caravans don’t even get crumbs. They’ll grind the margins to dust.”

“Mm—got it. Then I’ll take this one, this one, and that one. How many you got?”

Cerqin loved the designs and the play. She wanted several of each to tear open and study like shells on a beach.

She’d only bought a single pair of call-slates before; after she cracked them open, she couldn’t put them back together. The regret still stung like a paper cut.

Many small arcanotech functions, paired with other parts, might make something brilliant, like threads woven into brocade.

Cerqin wanted to graft Arcanotechnology onto stranger things.

Like the torture devices she’d seen in that shop—steel and rune, thorn and clockwork.

She’d even picked up a booklet on mechanisms in Eastwind City’s bustling market. Then came training, then getting bullied, like waves without rest.

She hadn’t found time to read.

“If only there were books to learn Arcanotechnology,” she breathed, hope like a spark under ash.

“There are.”

While packing Cerqin’s bundle of hard-to-sell trinkets, Anran paused, remembering, and answered quick as a bell.

“The Empire eased bans on foreign books. They stopped policing technical manuals. In a few months, more will flow in like meltwater. And I happen to have one.”

Cerqin blinked, surprised, a little stunned, as if a door had opened in fog.

These arcanotech gadgets were easy to pull apart, but their bones weren’t like standard rune arrays. Nothing was hidden, yet without the right ground, you couldn’t rebuild the tower.

She wondered what kind of genius had mapped those rules and turned mist into paths.

“There really is one?”

“I’ll give it to you.”

Generous as open hands, Anran fetched a thick volume from who-knew-where and offered it to Cerqin.

On the cover, in the continent’s common script, a title gleamed like a brass plate: Arcanotechnology: A Complete Primer.

“This must be pricey.”

“In the Azuremist Empire, it’s common stuff—you can buy it anywhere,” Anran said, light as breeze. “Give it a few months and similar books will flow in here. It’s just scarce inside our Empire for now.”

“Heh. Then I’ll accept it.”